No Matter How Far
by Gir Crazy
Summary: "'I think you have the wrong person,' you said through gritted teeth, your voice touched with a tremble I'm sure you were trying to restrain." Droog's POV. Rated for some violence and language.


AN: First Homestuck fic I ever completed. I apologize in advance for all the OOCness.

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><p>I could see you out of the corner of my eye, Slick. Sitting at the bar just a seat away from me, nursin' your drink like some sorta baby. You were in one of your moods – didn't wanna be near of talk to anybody. So you just sat there and drowned your sorrows in a bottle of vodka. It's a cruel way to kill an emotion. But, well, you always were a cruel man.<p>

Boxcars was sitting to my left, and Deuce to his. The former took a swig of his drink and leaned toward me. "We should head back soon," he said, glancing at the clock on the wall.

I shook my head. "No. Slick is still being difficult. We have to wait."

Boxcars frowned at me. "It's getting late. Slick can sort out his problems back at the base."

I calmly raised an eyebrow at him. "You want to go tell Slick that we're leaving?" I asked. "That's fine. Go tell him then. Just don't come crying to me when he claws off half your face for bothering him."

Heh, he didn't look so insistent then. He gave you an uneasy glance, but you didn't notice. I don't think you'da noticed right then if I'd pulled out my gun and blown off the barman's head. Don't know where your mind was, but it sure as hell wasn't in that bar.

"Fine," Boxcars said to me. "If you're so smart, when'll it be safe to grab Slick and leave?"

I looked over at you, still holding onto that bottle for dear life, and took a sip of my own drink. "Wait until he gets drunk enough that we can drag him home without much of a fuss," I replied, turning back to face Boxcars.

The large scofflaw gave me an annoyed grunt. "The rate he's going at that drink, we'll be here all night," he grumbled.

I brought my glass to my lips, attempting to hide a smirk I was positive Boxcars had already seen. "What's this? The infamous Hearts Boxcars, afraid to stay out a little late?"

Boxcars just grinned at me. He knew I was only trying to get his goat. "Well, with shady characters like you around, who wouldn't be?" he said, turning away from me and back to his drink.

I turned back to the counter as well, downing the rest of my own drink. A slight tingling feeling made its way to my fingers, and I knew that was all I'd be having that night. I figured it really wouldn't do to have the only sensible member of the crew drunk off his ass.

I allowed my gaze to fall back on you. You hadn't moved an inch since I last glanced your way. Damn Slick, you looked so... _dejected_. I'd never seen you in that state before. A fellow couldn't help but wonder what had reduced you to it.

I had no time to properly ponder the scene before me, however, because it was then that _he_ appeared.

Deuce would later tell me that this guy had been staring at you for quite a while, but I'd been so lost in thought that I hadn't noticed. He was a simple looking Dersite, someone you wouldn't distinguish from your average Joe. But this average Joe was obviously brain-addled, because he walked right up to you and tapped you on the shoulder.

It took you a moment to snap out of your trance and re-enter reality, but once that was done you slowly turned on your seat and gave your pest a murderous look of resentment.

This look did not faze him. He continued to stare at you intently until he loudly and quite stupidly declared, "You look familiar."

You squinted at him for a few seconds with a look of almost _disgusted_ incredulity set on your face. Then you turned back around and took a very long drink from your bottle of alcohol.

But that moron didn't take the hint. He just _stood_ there and _stared_. I was right on the verge of getting up and letting my ace of diamond teach him a few manners.

I sorely wish I had, because then maybe none of it would have ever happened. Maybe that lack-witted bastard never would've had the time to figure it out. Never had time to pound his fist into his palm with realization, and to announce what he had discovered to the entire bar.

"I remember you now! You're Jack Noir!"

Every eye turned you way. You froze with that bottle half-way to your lips, your eyes growing impossibly wide. The room was completely still, and breaths were held as people waited for your response.

Your hand began to shake. You quickly put down your drink and closed your eyes in an attempt to regain your composition. "I think you have the wrong person," you said through gritted teeth, your voice touched with a tremble I'm sure you were trying to restrain.

The idiot standing behind you looked confused. "No, no, I'm sure it was you!" he said. "You'd sit around all day looking shady and doing paper wo-"

Poor chap never got to finish his sentence, 'cuz somethin' in your mind just fucking _snapped_, Slick. I saw your eye twitch right before you launched off that bar stool and punched the guy in the jaw so hard I heard something crack.

Oh, but you didn't stop there. No, you proceeded to grab him by the shirt collar, knee him in the gut, and then knock him to the floor with another sock to the face.

You slammed one of your feet down onto your victim's stomach, causing a sort of gurgling gasp to escape from his throat. As your foot dug into his abdomen, you pulled out one of your knives and held it over his head.

"My name is _Spades Slick_," you snarled, your grip on the blade tightening, "and I'm gonna carve it into your face so that you _never forget it!_"

I'll admit, up until then, I had been too shocked to do anything. I mean, I always love to see someone get their comeuppances. Hell, I had been about to hit the guy just a moment before. But your reaction made no sense. Both the violent outburst and the denial. You _were_ Jack Noir. What was wrong with that? It didn't make any sense to me.

When I saw that knife glint in the bar's dim lighting, I shot out of my seat and grabbed one of your raised arms. "Slick, what the hell are you doing?" I yelled.

You knocked my hand away and turned to me with a wild fury in your eyes. "I'm carving this guy a new visage!" you snapped. "Stay out of my way!"

I forced myself to look you right in the eye, even though the look you were giving me was starting to unnerve me. "No, you're _not_," I said forcibly, grabbing your arm yet again. "Slick, this guy didn't do anything wrong, and he didn't _say_ anything wrong. What are you flipping out about?"

That was the wrong thing to say. Every ounce of hatred that had just been aimed toward the man under your foot was suddenly directed at me. "Are you taking his side?!" you screamed at me.

The answer had been on the tip of my tongue, but then you did something that made me completely forget my words. You tried to stab me.

I jumped to the side, the blade missing me by a mere inch. I stared at you in disbelief. "Slick, what the fu-"

But you weren't waiting around to listen to any more of my words. You lunged at me and sent us both tumbling across the floor.

I don't know where you got the strength, but after a short yet painful scuffle you managed to pin me down. My head was reeling. I couldn't do anything but watch you raise the knife into the air.

Suddenly, Boxcars was behind you. And with a speed that belied his size he smashed that damned bottle of vodka over your head.

The knife fell from your grasp and clattered harmlessly to the floor, though it did so dangerously close to my eye. You swayed slightly, them crumpled into an unconscious heap on my chest.

I carefully extracted myself from beneath your impassive body and looked up at Boxcars. We were both breathing heavily, I from my struggle with you, and he from his quick movements and the strength he put into swinging that bottle. The larger man offered me a hand, one that I gladly took.

Once on my feet, I surveyed the room. The guy you had attacked was long gone, having wisely taken his chance to escape, but everyone else was still there and staring at us with wide eyes. A knot began to tie itself in the pit of my stomach.

"_Now_ can we leave?" Boxcars asked me seriously.

For moment I just stood there, gazing into nothingness and wondering how the evening could have gone so horribly wrong. Then, slowly, I turned to face Boxcars.

"Yeah," I murmured.

-

And now here I am, sitting next to your bed as you recover from the day's events. I've been going over that story in my head again and again, and you know what? I think I may have figured it out. Why you attacked that guy, why you denied his claim, and maybe even why you were sitting so despondently in that bar in the first place.

You're running away from your past.

Aren't you?

Jack.

The person didn't die with the name as you intended. Deep within you still lives that overambitious arch agent with a dream of being at the top.

He's never going away, Slick. Because no matter how hard you try, you can't erase the past.

And no matter how far you run, you can never escape from who you are.

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><p>AN: There you have it. Hope you all liked it! Please review if you have time.<p>

~Gir Crazy ;3


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